


Medicinal

by Dusty



Series: Conversations In The Car [16]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hot Sex, M needs a damn good fuck, Oral Sex, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:26:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty/pseuds/Dusty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are both wound up after a hard day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medicinal

**Author's Note:**

> Porn. Basically. You're welcome.

She’d been tense all day, just one of those days were every little thing rebels against you when it could have just as easily complied. She’d tried to buy a couple of nice items for dinner, but typically the supermarket had run out of both.

She was also deeply frustrated that of her five phone calls that day, only one person had got back to her about a meeting she was organising for ex secret service personnel. She missed being M sometimes. No one would dare make her wait for information then.

She’d compensated for feeling ineffective by wearing one of her best trouser suits, and smashed a glass in frustration when she got pickle on the sleeve. She’d thrown the tailored jacket off haphazardly and watched it slide along the kitchen floor. Now, despite her best cream blouse and neatly styled hair, she felt quite unravelled.

By 8pm, she’d taken to roaming the house, slamming awkward drawers and swearing at elusive possessions, sure that the reason she couldn’t find the things she was looking for was because James kept being in her house. And in her mind. She poured a glass of bourbon, still glaring at inanimate objects, and contemplated finding a way to relax for the evening.

She heard him come in. She hadn’t been sure whether to expect him, and it irritated her that he couldn’t even text to let her know. She scowled at the space he was shortly to appear in and waited.

There he was. She blinked. He was wearing a black beanie hat, presumably as a disguise, which had the effect of whitening his face, and a long overcoat. But there was something else: a red line etched on his cheek. She forgot everything and froze.

“What happened?” she asked curtly.

He frowned, pulling off the beanie hat and discarding it aimlessly. She bit her lip and made a mental note to berate him for cluttering her house later on.

“Your face,” she explained.

“Oh,” he said with a shrug. “Just a scuffle.” He took off his coat and chucked it over a chair.

Her stomach twisted. He was fine, crisp shirt and tight trousers, spotless as ever, and yet she hated seeing him with one tiny abrasion. She flashed back to the countless instances of James wounded, injured, bruised, bloodied and limping, not to mention hospitalised, and recalled her professional detachment. He’d come back alive and that was enough.

 _So what the fuck was this_? She clenched her hands, desperate to maintain indifference.

“You’re not hurt?” She raised an eyebrow and tried to sound disinterested, if not disappointed.

“Don’t be daft. It’s just a little scratch.”

Her lip curled. He stepped further into the room, his eyes boring into her. Then his eye line dropped minutely as he took her in: her white bra shone from underneath her blouse, her breasts prominent and proud, while her waist was hugged by _those_ sexy trousers. He moved in even closer.

She could feel him undressing her with his eyes and she fought to stay nonchalant. Just then, the light caught the jagged cut on his cheek and she felt herself flinch.

“Have you had that seen to?” she asked, now going for bossy.

“No,” he replied scornfully. “It’s a fucking scratch.”

“It needs cleaning. Sit down.”

He sighed and plonked himself down on the sofa petulantly. “Yes, mum,” he sighed.

She’d made for the bathroom, but doubled back artfully and smacked him hard on the arm before he could defend himself.

“Ow!” he yelped, rubbing his bicep. She shot daggers at him before heading to the bathroom again.

He smirked, reclining devilishly and awaiting her next move.

She came back into the room with a first aid kit and sat next to him on the couch, pulling out cotton wool and TCP and twisting around to tend to his injury. She ignored his glinting eyes and firmly held his jaw in one hand, while none-too-gently dabbing at the cut on his face, a faint frown on her brow.

He hissed as the antiseptic hit the wound.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she scolded. He couldn’t take his eyes of her, but she deliberately avoided his. She was angry, it seemed. Angry with him for being hurt. He smiled on the inside. _Offense is the best form of defence,_ he mused inwardly. _Poor old M_.

He caught her hand and forced eye contact. “Kiss it better,” he said. “You want to,” he added. “I can tell. Do it.”

She glared at him, getting ready to tell him all the reasons why a few cuts and bruises on him didn’t affect her at all, and she wasn’t his mother, and she wasn’t his nurse, and he wasn’t a child or an invalid. But he tore those thoughts from her by simply slipping his hand between her legs. It was the most efficient way of reminding her that their relationship had changed since the days he used to return to her, battered and bruised, mission accomplished. In short, he hit the absolute right button. Her eyes widened as he rubbed gently, and she rocked against his palm with a gasp.

“Kiss it better,” he ordered smoothly.

Her eyes flashed at him but they were instantly dimmed by arousal. His touch was too good and she quickened her movements. She leaned in and kissed the wound lightly, before dropping her chin and meeting him in a passionate kiss that became urgent within seconds.

She moved her hand to his crotch and pressed against his growing hardness, mirroring his ministrations. They rocked and groaned together for several minutes, kissing and gasping, desperate for each others touch as if their bodies were programmed to seek each other out regardless of what their minds had to say.

He broke off the kiss and shifted back so he was leaning against the arm of the sofa and spread his legs out underneath her. She moved to straddle him, but he pushed her gently away from him, until her face was level with his sex.

“ _Kiss it better_.” His voice was low, his eyes kind. Fixing her with a smoky gaze, he efficiently popped open his fly and pushed his clothing down a few inches. His erection bobbed out. She smouldered at him as he placed his hands on her shoulders and applied _just the right_ pressure.

She opened her mouth before she could think, shooting him a dirty look that made his cock twitch, before letting him push her down so she could take him in deeply. He tried to keep his cool but immediately failed, arching up against his will and throwing his head back as his hands rushed into her hair as she worked him with her mouth. He was lost. Lost, with _M_ face down in his lap. 

She'd settled between his legs, grateful for the length of the sofa and her compact stature within it. Her eyes flicked up and she observed him through her eyelashes. She was greeted by his exposed neck and wanton posture.

She knew it would be quick; he was panting wildly, occasionally sitting up to look at her, but every time she met his eyes he collapsed back with a cry and thrust up into her mouth. She let him, swirling her tongue around his erection and creating a blissful, tight suction. Her head bobbed as she controlled his movements, now the one to guide the action. She felt his hands tensing in frustration around her scalp and knew he was trying to be polite – on his best behaviour for her, and it turned her on massively. She could sense he wanted to hold her head down and fuck her mouth hard. _But he was such a good boy._

She rolled her own hips into the couch, and disappointed by the lack of contact flicked her leg over one of his until it rested just where she needed it to. His foot flexed to accommodate her.

He growled in response as she ground herself against his lower shin, humming her pleasure around his cock. His hands became firmer in her hair, pulling her down as close as he could, his hips rutting fast. Her arms reached up, fingers spreading over his chest and nipples. She slacked her mouth and opened her throat; focussed on keeping in position for him to get what he wanted.

He panted viciously. He allowed himself to grip her head hard, willing himself to come before he hurt her, or at least before he hurt her too much. He felt her humping his leg and was suddenly void of coherent thought as the mental image and sensations exploded in his mind and groin.

“Now,” came his strangled gasp as way of a warning, and he tried to loosen his hold on her, but she stayed just where she was. He went rigid, and felt his climax leave his body in a terrible rush, his hot fluid shooting into her mouth and throat as he continued to rut into the perfect tight warmth that encased him.

She made low appreciative noises all the while, swallowing him down effortlessly.

He started to calm down, chest rising and falling steadily as his body trembled. She continued to lick his softening cock like a mother cat cleaning her kitten; him stroking her hair until the shockwaves subsided. He finally flopped out of her mouth, shiny and sated.

She was still lazily rubbing herself against him, and he moved his foot to see if he could provide her with better friction. It didn’t quite work, so he clasped her by the arms and pulled her up his body.

“Come here,” he breathed as he embraced her warmly, her hips still rolling into him. She purred dreamily against his chest, her eyes closed and face relaxed yet her body horny and wanton. He snaked his hand between them and pressed hard against her heat through her trousers. She gasped and panted, but her eyes remained closed, still cuddled up to him deliciously. She felt very damp through the fabric, and it sent a jolt to his spent cock. He pressed harder, kneading and rubbing her crudely, providing the friction she so desperately needed. She was quaking as she ground and ground against his hand, clutching at his body as she chased her release, eyes clamped shut as her whole being centred in her groin. Her rhythmic cries filled the room.

“That’s it,” he whispered nastily, holding her securely. “You need it. You’re just your cunt now, aren’t you?”

She opened her mouth wide in a dry and silent scream as her body began to take over, clutching wildly at his shirt. He groaned loudly. He’d never seen her this feral. With a sudden lurch and a guttural shout, she came violently, her body racked with undulations. She rode it out for all she could, still humping his fingers and knuckles in deep, long movements, before finally slumping against him amidst breathy whimpers.

He relaxed his wrist, his hand throbbing, and raised an eyebrow as he considered the true glory of the clitoris. Then he simply wrapped his arms around her as she lay devastated against him.

Her breathing gradually returned to normal and he rubbed her back gently.

“You were supposed to be looking after me,” he chided with a wicked grin. “I was injured.”

She lifted her head to look at him disdainfully. “You’ll live,” she sneered, and dropped her head back onto his chest, now utterly beyond caring about a silly little scratch.

 


End file.
